


when the dust settles

by bananas



Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: (Almost), (kind of), Civil War, Drama, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Homophobia, Hurt and comfort, I hope, Kinda, M/M, Medieval AU, Medieval India, Mild Gore, Royalty AU, War, again check ch 5 notes!!, and alot of random paki n indian players are mentioned/show up, anyways thats enough spoilers, as expected, as the closeted king sleeping with his favourite grumpy noble, broody n emotional virat, check ch 5 notes for further info pls, cookerson rule medieval england, damn is that a spoiler, like it's barely there, mohammad amir makes a cameo, small itty bitty minor character death, some violence too but nothing too graphic, theyre also in love obv, very mild
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-21
Packaged: 2019-05-16 12:50:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14811692
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bananas/pseuds/bananas
Summary: 16th century Hindustan, where the sun shines bright over the coastal capital and the stone-walled castle housing the royal family; where suspicion, distrust and betrayal govern some hearts.There is something dark and sinister looming over the subcontinent, threatening the peace in the castle and in the kingdom.Amidst all this, a young prince meets a general by chance and an unlikely friendship begins, with, perhaps, the promise of something more.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lordsanga](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordsanga/gifts).



> this fic has been my life for the past few weeks, no joke. i dont think ive ever enjoyed writing a fic more so thank you lordsanga for this wonderful prompt!!! i just took it n ran with it literally because this fic is just wild and like nothing ive ever written before.
> 
> welcome to a Medieval AU set mostly in Karachi, (modern day Pakistan) Hindustan around the 16th century which is before the british arrived in late 17th (i think.. my pakistan studies knowledge is a bit rusty) 
> 
> so lordsanga only said she wouldn't mind an AU and here I am, set with an approximately 15-20k word fic about Medieval Hindustan where Virat is a prince. wild.
> 
> also, my history knowledge is zero but i did do some research about sword fighting and archery for this so it's not all rubbish guesswork. 
> 
> disclaimer: none of this is real. its all my imagination and only based veryyy loosely on real people. 
> 
> happy reading!
> 
> heres a small section of the prompt for anyone wondering:
> 
> _ab/virat: not realising you're falling hard for someone just that you admire and who makes you laugh and always lights you up_
> 
> also a side-note: ive kept the urdu/hindi to a minimum because i don't know whether the prompter understands urdu/hindi and i wanted to make the fic easy for them to understand. there's one dialogue in urdu only and i use the word chai at one point but we all know that it means tea so it doesnt really matter. anyway, moving on. happy reading!

_ Port of London, England _

_ 9 months ago _

 

“Have a safe journey, Virat,” Alastair said, lifting one of Virat’s many crates into the ship’s storage area himself and ignoring the reproachful look of the servant boy loading the rest of the luggage.

Virat wore a bittersweet smile on his face.

“I will. And thank you, Alastair. For everything.”

Alastair smiled sadly.

“Of course.”

“And I'm sorry, again. For all the trouble I caused you and Jimmy.”

“Don't apologise Virat. It wasn’t your fault,” Alastair said, shaking his head. “If anything, I should be the one apologizing; if it wasn't for the pressure from the church or the commoners here you wouldn't be forced to leave.”

Virat nodded, understanding because Hindustan wasn't much different from England in this regard.

“Alastair. Virat,” came a voice from behind them and they turned to see Jimmy walking towards them followed by two men carrying a large, rectangular package.

Virat stared at the package inquisitively until Alastair spoke.

“He’s finished it then?” he asked Jimmy and Jimmy nodded.

“Just this morning,” Jimmy replied.

“What is it?” Virat asked curiously as the men loaded it on the ship with the rest of Virat's things.

“A present from us,” Alastair answered. “A painting that Joe did of three of us. I hope you'll like it.”

“I'm sure I will.” Virat smiled gratefully.

The ship’s horn sounded loudly beside them, interrupting their conversation and making them jump as the captain approached them.

“Your Majesty, Your Grace and Your Highness,” Mo said, nodding at Alastair, Jimmy and Virat in turn. “We're ready to depart.”

“Such formality, Moeen,” Alastair said with a wry smile. “And just as you're about to leave us too.”

Mo smiled but said nothing further as Virat climbed onto the ship.

“Goodbye Alastair, Jimmy. Thank you again for everything.”

“Visit again, Virat,” James said. “In a few years, no one will remember this and you'll be free to come see us again.”

Virat nodded, uncertain. “I'll see, James. I haven't been home in so long.”

“Of course,” Alastair said easily. “Whenever you decide to return, our borders and our castle doors will always be open to you.” He smiled warmly at him and Virat smiled back, a hint of sadness in his eyes as he boarded the ship and the drawbridge was raised behind him.

As Alastair and James grew smaller and smaller in the distance, Virat turned away from where the coast was and instead faced the open expanse of the blue sea, ready for his journey home.

 

-


	2. Chapter 2

_Karachi, Hindustan_

_Now _

 

“Baba!”

Virat’s voice echoed against the stone walls of the castle hall as the wooden doors swung open to allow him to enter through. His father, sat atop his throne, paused in the middle of what seemed to be an intense, heated argument with two of his right hand men: his advisor and the head of the army.

“Virat!” his father called out as he spotted him, his face lighting up and all frown lines disappearing instantly. “My son, you’re home!”

He stood up immediately and descended from the throne steps to greet him. Virat strode forward, accepting his father’s hug with a smile.

“I am.” Virat let go and turned to greet his father’s advisor and General Sehwag with a nod and a smile. MS grinned back while Sehwag, ever composed, gave him a small smile. They both kept their distance however, allowing the king and his son to have their moment.

Their moment didn’t last long as the rest of the court rushed forward to greet the prince on his return, bowing in front of him in respect. Virat straightened each one, hugging everyone he was familiar with and close to and giving them all of them his most charming smile as they welcomed him, making small talk about his journey and adventures and his unexpected arrival.

The king dismissed the court after they had all had their turn, leaving the hall empty save for the king, Virat, MS and a few guards stationed at the entrances.

“You came home early, Virat,” the king commented, his voice louder with the absence of the background chatter. He led them towards the back entrance of the hall and Virat strode alongside him, followed closely by MS. “You weren’t due till next year.”

“Yes, father,” Virat said simply, ready for his father’s next question.

“Can I ask why my son decided to return home a year early?” the king asked, eyebrows raised. “Not that I’m complaining. We have missed you here,” he said, a smile in his eyes. “Your mother will be thrilled she has you back earlier than expected.”

Virat smiled and nodded, ducking his head.

“I missed home,” he said simply, after a moment’s silence. “I figured it was time to come back.”

The king nodded but he didn’t seem satisfied. “England didn’t treat you well?” he asked in a casual tone but Virat saw the worried look in his eyes.

“England treated me very well, father,” Virat assured him immediately. “King Alastair was very kind and hospitable.”

“Then what made you come back?” the king asked him, not bothering to mask his worried look now. MS was silent behind them this whole time, observing the two.

“I missed my family and my Hindustan,” Virat said as convincingly as he could. He flashed MS a quick look and MS jumped in immediately.

“That sounds about right, Your Majesty,” MS said, placing a hand on the kings arm. “After all, what does England have on Hindustan?” he asked with a small smile in Virat’s direction and Virat smiled back gratefully. The king didn’t seem completely convinced but nodded.

“Too right, that,” Virat said dryly.

The king smiled, finally letting it go. He reached for his son’s arm and lead him through the doors of the hall, amid salutes from the guards on each side.

“Very well. Come then, Virat. It’s about time we go meet your mother; she must have heard of your arrival by now and for every second I keep you from meeting her, I’m going to get in even more trouble than I already am.”

Virat laughed, allowing his father to drag him along as MS followed behind dutifully.

 

-

 

Virat sat on the ground, head rested against his mother’s chair as the queen sat, running her hands lovingly through her only son’s hair.

“There will be a feast tomorrow night for you,” his mother said, a smile in her voice.

Virat smiled and nodded even though she couldn't see his expression.

“As is expected of father. He just needs an excuse to have a party for the kingdom.”

“Yes but we'll have some special guests in attendance as well,” his mother said lightly and Virat shifted to face her, not fooled by her nonchalant expression for one second.

“Oh?” he asked, with a raise of an eyebrow.

His mother gave him an embarrassed smile, knowing her son wasn't falling for her act for one second.

“You remember Nawabzadi Sana Mir of Khyber Pakhtunkhwa?”

“Of course,” Virat said cautiously, recalling the bold, strong-willed daughter of the Nawab. He had clear memories of when she had visited before, years ago. On her visit, she had challenged Virat to a duel as a part of the annual games going on at that time. The record for the quickest match had been shattered that day after she managed to disarm Virat after only 7 seconds of play. She'd laughed as she helped him up after his defeat and Virat had grinned back and for the next few days that the Nawabzadi was in Karachi for, she gave him sword-fighting lessons and tips. “Why do you ask?”

“Well,” his mother clasped and unclasped her hands in front of her, a sure sign of nervousness. “She's visiting with her army contingent so I was hoping you could, you know, show her around the city sometime.”

Virat pursed his lips, biting back a smile and guessing where his mother was going with this. He gave in and decided to go along with his mother’s terribly disguised plan. “Nawabzadi Sana has been here before and besides, didn’t she receive the royal tour upon her arrival?” he asked innocently.

His mother looked hesitant. “Well, yes but I was hoping you could give her a more,” she paused, avoiding his eyes, “private tour?”

She looked up at him hopefully and Virat couldn’t stop himself from laughing. The queen looked embarrassed but smiled as well.

“Mother!” Virat said, scandalized but still laughing.

“Well, you can’t blame me for trying, can you?” she said defensively. “God knows when you’re planning on marrying and finally giving your mother some peace of mind.” She was still smiling despite her chastisement and Virat laughed again.

“I’ll marry in due time, mother. But it won’t be with Sana,” he added carefully.

Or any other girl for that matter, he thought to himself.

“Well, whenever you’re ready I suppose,” his mother agreed, a rueful smile on her face as she patted Virat’s cheek.

 

-

 

His mother soon left to attend to the planning of the feast his father had enthusiastically announced, muttering about dishes and seat placements and having food enough for thousands in the capital and the villages of the kingdom cooked in time. Virat was left to wander around the castle halls, going from room to room, reminiscing about the days he’d spent here growing up. A five year stay in England felt like a lifetime there but now, back in Karachi, it seemed like despite the time passed, nothing much had changed back home. The rooms, the tapestries, the furniture and even the servants greeting him at every door were the same. He remembered every crack on every stone on the walls, every scratch on the doors and how every step in this castle made him feel light and airy and free. The feeling of home in this castle couldn’t be matched by any palace he’d stayed in in England.  

Virat soon reached the kitchen but the sound of the panicked chefs and shouting of orders and the rushed footsteps of cooks and servants running around leaking through the closed doors was enough to deter him from entering. Instead, he left from the side doors leading to the stables and the courtyard. The area was mostly empty save for a few chickens and a stable boy latching the door. With a quick bow to the Prince, the boy hurried off as well, no doubt to prepare for the feast tonight.

Virat passed the courtyard, kicking up the hay strewn around and he kept walking till he’d passed the horse-racing tracks and the castle farm and he’d reached the military training grounds. He’d spent most of his youth here, learning how to wield a sword or how to shoot an arrow alongside his fellow young men. Recently, he hadn’t dedicated much of his time to his battle skills, what with his studies in England but as he picked up a fallen sword, the familiar weight felt good in his hands and he swung it through the air a few times, testing the agility of the blade through the air. The sword dropped from his hands as, in the distance, he spotted target practices with rows of bows and arrows laid out in the middle of the woods. Growing up, sword-fighting had been his strength thanks to Sana’s guidance, but he had always preferred archery and so, Virat immediately made for the clearing, eager to test his hand at it again.

Virat carefully picked up the first bow lying in the row, a beautiful one carved out of yew wood. He tested out the balance in his hands, pulling the string back a few times. Watching it spring back into place. After deeming it satisfactory, he nocked an arrow in, pulling the bow back lightly and aiming for the target before releasing. His shot missed the mark completely and the arrow landed somewhere in the bushes behind the target. Virat frowned, picking another arrow up and positioning himself again for another shot. He missed again, his arrow going even wider and he grunted, annoyed. He bent down for another arrow when he heard the rustling of leaves and footsteps. He turned instantly to see a man, not much older than him and dressed in full armour enter the clearing.

“Can I help you?” Virat asked, his annoyance at his failure to shoot seeping into his tone slightly.

“No. I just heard someone here so I thought I would investigate,” the man said in an accented voice and Virat frowned again, unable to recognize the man or his accent. “Do you want some help with that?” The man asked, coming forward and reaching for Virat’s bow. “Your stance needs to be more angular, rather than straight-” His eyes were kind as he explained but Virat narrowed his own and snatched the bow out of his reach.

“I don’t need your help,” Virat snapped. “I know how to do it; I’ve just been out of practice for a while. I’ve got it.”

The man looked surprised but nodded and moved back. Virat turned away, doing his best to ignore the eyes on him. He nocked another arrow into his bow and, once more, allowed it to sail through the air only to see it fall in the bushes again, barely brushing the edge of the target. He bit back a cry of frustration for the sake of his audience and instead shook his head and picked up another arrow. His arm was already beginning to tire and his annoyance seemed to make it hurt even worse but he raised his arms anyway and aimed. He released but again his arrow flew to join the others on the ground. Virat couldn’t hold back his grunt of frustration this time and he let out a string of swears at the arrow, the target and himself.

He saw the man grimace from the corner of his eye but he remained silent and instead Virat saw him pick up another set of bow and arrows lying on the ground. He turned to see him nock an arrow in and raise his arms to take aim, his body facing Virat but his eyes set on the target. He released the arrow with a light twitch of his fingers and the bow sprung back as the arrow flew, landing precisely on the target, just near the inner circle of the bull’s eye. The man didn’t hesitate nor did his expression change and he raised his arms again, his bow resting just along his chin on the same anchor point as last time and, once again, his arrow siced through the air, striking the board almost dead center. It quivered slightly in its place and Virat grimaced, raising his own bow now to take aim. He mirrored the man’s stance though, instead of his own old one, and released the arrow after taking a more careful aim, just like he did. The arrow didn’t hit the target as accurately as the man’s shot but it struck the board near enough to the center and Virat put his bow down, satisfied with his sudden improvement after the disastrous first few attempts. He turned to thank the man or, at best, acknowledge his assistance but saw that there was no one there anymore and the bow the man had used was lying abandoned on the ground among the dead leaves.

 

-

 

Virat wasn’t one to dwell on interactions, especially with random strangers who disappeared into thin air when his attention was diverted for a few seconds, so it was beyond him why, an hour or so later, he still couldn’t forget those kind eyes of the man who’d tried to help him as well as the look of determination on his face when he’d shot his arrows. The sheer power that allowed him to shoot the bow only with a shift in his finger’s grip as well as the perfect serene expression on his face the entire time was ingrained in Virat’s mind. And then there was another unfamiliar feeling in his gut ever since he’d seen the shocked expression on the man’s face after he’d had snapped at him. It was a strange feeling - something that could be guilt, perhaps, but wasn’t because Prince Virat doesn’t feel guilty, nor does he feel ashamed; that’s just not -

“You’re brooding,” said a voice from behind him, interrupting his internal monologue and Virat turned from where he was leaning over the balcony.

He squinted against the harsh rays of the sun to see MS approaching and said defensively, “No, I’m not.”

“You are,” MS replied, amused. “Five years in England and you’re still the same angst-ridden drama you were when you left.”

“I am not an angst-ridden drama!” Virat said but he was fighting back a smile.

MS hummed in response. There was a minute or two of silence as they observed the bustling city below before Virat spoke again.

“How was it here?” he asked.

“It was different,” MS said, simply and Virat smiled.

“It’s good to be back,” he said, looking down upon the city again. The busy streets, his people shouting below at each other in 10 different languages, carts moving along rickety roads with loud clatters and bangs, the smell of rich spices coming from the market nearby and merchants, foreign and local, trying to entice people into buying their goods.

Virat frowned thoughtfully as he watched an East Asian merchant selling silk to two women. Perhaps, like this man, the man he’d met earlier was a merchant too? But that didn’t explain his armor. There had to be another explanation. Why would a foreign soldier be wandering around the castle so openly? What if-

Virat was snapped out of his reverie by MS who kept repeated his name louder and louder.

“Virat! Virat! Where were you lost? I was talking to you,” he asked, half frowning.

Virat shook his head. “Sorry, I was just thinking.”

MS looked inquisitive.

“I met someone today,” Virat said before he could help himself.  “A man. He was dressed in full armour but he wasn’t from here. Pale skin, blue eyes, foreign accent.”

“A foreign soldier?” MS asked. “He could be one of Nawabzadi Sana’s troops. Was his accent Pakhtun?”

Virat shook his head. “I’d recognize a Pakhtun accent. This one was different. Heavier.”

MS looked thoughtful. “That’s odd. But why are you so interested?” he asked with tilt of his head.

“Oh,” Virat said instantly, as if snapping back to reality. “No reason.”

MS raised his eyebrows, skeptical but, again, he didn’t question Virat any further. He leaned away from the balcony edge instead, straightening his uniform out.

“I’ll be leaving then. The feast preparation needs overseeing,” he said, with a smile and a nod in Virat’s direction and Virat nodded back turning back to the view of the city as MS’ footsteps faded.

 

-

 

Perhaps it was the fact that he’d slept in a hard, wooden ship bed for the past few months or it was that he hadn’t slept in his own bed for five years but Virat was restless that night, tossing and turning in his bed. Familiar and unfamiliar faces wove in and out of his dreams, not letting him sleep and constantly reminding him of Lancashire and London and especially of the days leading to his hasty departure to England. When sleep finally came, it came in the form of a dream of a day nine months ago; a dream of Virat's last day in England.

 

-

  _Lancashire, England_

  _9 months earlier_

 

_Despite the fact that he'd been in England for more than 5 years now, Virat still wasn't accustomed to life here. The freedom that Virat had felt in Hindustan was incomparable and he missed it almost every day._

_Back home he was able to wander around the castle halls and grounds and do whatever he wanted as he wished but here in England, Virat had to restrict his movements and whims so as to not impose or be a burden on the royal family hosting him._

_He had to endure the stares and remarks made by the palace occupants about who he was or why he was there even when he just ventured out of his designated quarters to get food or to study. Servants regularly tried to disrespect him in their native English, thinking he didn’t understand them._

_Everywhere he went, whether he stayed with the king or visited a noble in another county, Virat was made to feel out of place with his skin colour or accent or his clothing. Despite the royal family's best efforts to make the other nobles, members of the court and the commoners more accepting and respectful towards him, the treatment he received from most of the people he encountered here was a farce at best; they would be polite in front of King Alastair or Duke James but as soon as the King or the Duke were out of sight they would return to their rude, degrading remarks about Virat’s dressing or accent or behavior, masking them with a sickly sweet smile or as some supposedly well-meaning advice._

_Before travelling to England, he had eagerly anticipated the anonymity he would be able to have there but instead, upon his arrival, he realized how naive he'd been. Rather than allowing him to wander freely as a commoner, most of the people were hostile and rude towards him, mistaking him for a slave or even, at times, as an escapee from one of the human zoos they had scattered around England. Their attempts to capture him that followed were foiled everytime by the guards appointed by the King of England to shadow him but regardless, every incident left him shaken._

_Soon, his loneliness in England made him want to crave home despite the promise that he'd made to his father to finish his studies here so that he could return to Hindustan as a prince fit to rule his kingdom one day._

_To satiate his homesickness, Virat began to hope to have at least one other Hindustani here with him for company. It was no shock then, that on one chilly night in Lancashire, when Virat saw a Hindustani man just passing by gates of the castle he was being hosted at, he rushed out of the balcony he had spotted him from and ran towards the gate. A moment of desperation led to a decision to trail the man, just to see who he was and where he was headed. He exited the gate quietly and followed him, keeping his distance. He ended up walking into a crowded pub after seeing the man’s shalwar kameez disappear through the pub’s doors just minutes before._

_His eyes scanned the room as he entered, landing on a skinny, tan young man, perhaps just a few years younger than Virat, ordering a drink at the bar. Virat approached the bar, well aware of the eyes around the room that were currently trained on them, no doubt accompanied by expressions of shock or disgust._

_“One beer please,” the man was saying and Virat’s heart soared just listening to the Punjabi accented English coming out from a mouth that wasn’t his own._

_“Make that two,” he said, pushing two gold coins towards the barkeep who pocketed them quickly, before Virat could change his mind about paying more than ten times the price for two beers._

_The man turned to him surprise and raised his eyebrows. “Thanks, I guess,” the man said uncertainly, grabbing his beer off the counter and taking a sip._

_“Anything for a fellow Hindustani, my friend,” Virat said, raising his glass and leading them to a booth._

_The man followed him hesitantly but smiled as he sat down, revealing a row of even, white teeth, a sharp contrast against his tanned skin and Virat grinned back._

_“Where are you from in Hindustan then?” the man asked, taking another sip and setting his glass down._

_Virat paused, not wanting to divulge exactly who he was to the stranger just yet._

_“Somewhere in Karachi,” he said, a half-truth because the castle was, in fact, in the heart of Karachi. “You?”_

_“Lahore,” the man said easily, trailing a finger around the rim of his glass._

_“So what brings you here then?” he asked as he took a sip from the glass, now dripping with condensation._

_“Studies,” Virat said simply and the man raised his eyebrows._

_“Oh,” the man said, a look of surprise on his face accompanying his smile. “I’m in the presence of a rich man’s son, aren’t I?”_

_Virat just laughed, deciding to not answer but it made the man only more curious._

_“Which Nawab’s son are you then?” the man asked._

_“I’m not any Nawab’s son,” Virat answered truthfully because his father wasn’t just a Nawab after all; he was a king._

_“That can’t be. Your father must be wealthy if he’s sending his son across the world for ‘studies’.” The man shook his head, lifting his glass to his lips once more. “Should’ve guessed it when you paid the bartender what you’d pay for a horse for just two beers.”_

_Virat decided a change in subject was necessary._

_“What are you here for then?” he asked. “If you’re not here for studies.”_

_The man raised his eyebrows, giving him a smirk. “Adventure,” he said._

_Virat laughed. “Adventure? Here of all places? What, was Hindustan not good enough for some excitement?”_

_“It was,” the man shrugged. “Until, I ran out of places to go and things to do so I decided to come here.” He grinned devilishly at Virat again._

_Virat nodded, not sure what to make out of the man’s statement._

_“What’s your name anyway?” the man asked curiously and Virat froze, knowing he could be exposed right now._

_“Virat,” he said carefully._

_The man looked thoughtful. “Doesn’t ring a bell,” he said. “Virat of where? Which family?”_

_“No family,” Virat said. “Just Karachi.”_

_“So you aren’t a nobleman’s son after all?” the man asked, skeptical and Virat half smiled._

_“I told you I wasn’t,” he reminded him. The man nodded although unconvinced._

_“I’m Amir,” he said._

_“Just Amir?” Virat asked, smiling and the man laughed._

_“Just Amir. Just like you’re Just Virat.”_

 

_-_

 

_Virat blamed the beers and Amir’s devilish smile for what happened next on the rickety bed of a tiny room in the nearby inn. He didn’t know who or what to blame for what came later in the form of a police raid of their room early that morning upon complaint of a neighbour about indecent noises coming from their room throughout the night. Virat and Amir were manhandled and dragged to the station by the Sheriff and his lieutenants where, upon questioning and with no other solution in sight, Virat was forced to tell the Sheriff who he was._

_  
The expression on the Sheriff’s face mirrored Amir’s as the two stared at him with shocked faces. The sheriff scowled as he realized that this development meant that there would be no action or imprisonment or public execution for the two. Virat realized this and his shoulders dropped in relief as he demanded the Sheriff send an errand boy to inform the Duke of Lancaster, who Virat had been staying with, that his presence was requested at the station._  

 _“This will not be made public. Understood?” the Duke said immediately after hearing Virat’s recount of the story, silencing the sound of protest uttered by the Sheriff with a raise of his hand._  

_He led them out soon after and the three of them, including Amir, got onto the carriage parked outside._

_“The charges with be dismissed,” the Duke said, as soon as they began to drive away._

_“I can’t thank you enough Jimmy,” Virat said gratefully, finally finding his voice again._

_“Don’t thank me just yet,” Jimmy said grimly. “You two will need to leave as well. You can’t stay here any longer. Not when everyone knows.”_

_“But I thought you just told him to not make it public,” Virat said and Amir huffed next to him._

_“You can’t stop the people from talking,” Amir said in a flat voice. “The person who complained will tell everyone. They may not know who you are but they know how we look. If we get spotted in public again we’ll be killed instantly. Or worse.”_

_Virat’s expression paled as he turned to James who nodded in agreement with Amir._

_“I told him not to make it public so as to not disclose your name or identity. But this man is right; you’re both in danger if you stay here any longer.”_

_Virat nodded, understanding finally._

_“So I’ll head back to London then?”_

_“No,” James said. “It’s up to you but I think that Alastair would agree with me when I say you should head back to Hindustan as soon as you can. News like this,” he paused, shaking his head, “it’ll spread like wildfire and it puts every brown skinned man in the country at risk. It’s best if you leave England completely.”_

_Virat stared at him, shock on his face and Amir’s as well._

_“But I can’t leave. I can’t go back to India,” Amir said, outraged, glaring at Virat with daggers in his eyes and Virat flinched under his stare. “I won’t go back to India.”_

_“You will have to unless you want to risk your life,” James said firmly and Amir narrowed his eyes at the two of them._

_“What’s life without a little risk?” he asked before jumping out of the carriage and taking off running in the opposite direction. Virat turned around, sticking his head out the window as he saw him disappear in the distance._

 

_-_

 

Virat was jolted awake as his recount in his nightmare came to end. Shaken and sweating all over he ran a hand through his hair and took his head in his hands as he tried to rid the image of Amir’s narrowed eyes, glaring at Virat with blame and anger, out of his mind. He lay back down, hands pressed against his eyes almost painfully. 

Sleep evaded him for the next few hours and he drifted in and out of his slumber. He was rudely woken up from what felt like a few minutes later with incessant banging on his room door and he groaned, covering his head with a pillow to block out the noise. Whoever it was didn't care for a reply because they barged in through the doors a few seconds later.

“Up! Up! Up, Your Highness! Come on!” Hardik shouted, wrenching open curtains with vigour, bathing the room in bright, painful sunlight.

Virat struggled to open his eyes but managed to glare at him while squinting which he considered an appreciable success. Bhuvi followed Hardik in to the room grinning sheepishly and Virat grimaced at him, unable to hold his glare.

Virat squinted further and a rack of clothes trailing behind Bhuvi came into view. He groaned again as he realized what he was about to endure.

“It’s too early for dress fitting,” he said, his voice muffled by the pillow he’d placed back on his face. The pillow was wrenched out of his grasp and off his face in the next second and Virat blearily blinked up to see Hardik’s jaw set and his eyebrows in a straight line as he glared at him.

“Bhuvi’s not slept since you’ve arrived because he’s been so busy designing and stitching your clothes, Virat, so I’ll be damned if your spoilt ass doesn’t get up this instant and try on every single outfit he’s picked for you.” He threw the pillow across the room where it knocked over a clay pot lying on the mantle of the fireplace with a loud crash, effectively emphasizing his point.

Virat frowned, kicking off his sheets and standing up whilst simultaneously giving Hardik a dirty look.

“ _Chutiya_ ,” he muttered to himself as he made his way to bathing area. He was out of Hardik’s hearing range by now but it made him feel better all the same.

Hardik and Bhuvi had to only wait minutes for him to return to the bedroom after washing up but Virat received a dirty look for Hardik even then.

“Shall we start then, Your Highness?” Bhuvi asked politely, his tone glaringly different from Hardik’s and Virat gave him a small smile.

“Yes Bhuvi,” he said pointedly. “Let's begin.”

Picking an outfit took way too long for Virat's liking as Bhuvi forced him into shalwar kameez after shalwar kameez, alternating between sherwanis and coats and turbans. He tried protesting and declaring random ones as perfect but Bhuvi ignored him while Hardik rudely told him to shut his mouth in very colourful Urdu.

 

-

 

Virat was finally able to flee the torture an hour or so later when Bhuvi was finally satisfied with their chosen outfit and Hardik gave him a reluctant nod to tell him he could leave.

Virat left quickly in the fear that they'd call him back but he didn’t manage to get far as he was soon stopped by the royal hairdresser.

“Two minutes, Your Highness. Just come in for two minutes and let me have a look at your hair,” Ahmed requested, already leading him to his quarters.

Virat began to protest but Ahmed cut him off again. “Just two minutes! We’ll have that ridiculous mop on your head fixed up in no time and that beard sorted too. Don’t you worry about it, Your Highness!”

Virat maintained a grumpy look but it had no effect on Ahmed as he sat him down a chair. Two minutes turned into two hours as Ahmed washed and dried and cut and styled his hair to “perfection” although Virat could scarcely tell the difference from the way it looked now to the way it looked before. As soon as Ahmed set the last comb down, Virat stood up but was promptly pushed back down by firm hands on his shoulders and he saw Ahmed give a wide smile to whoever it was. He turned to see Shahid behind him and groaned.

“Not my beard too, Afridi _sahab_ ,” he whined and Shahid rolled his eyes, grabbing his razor and getting to work. Virat would’ve attempted to run away if he wasn’t so scared about getting his face cut so he endured the trimming and styling in silence.

 

-

 

Virat attempted to sneak into the kitchens later, more out of boredom than his desperation for a snack but was barred from entering even after he threatened the head chef, Kamran, a childhood friend of his, with beheading. Kamran only laughed behind the closed doors as his brother Umar shouted and told him to get back to work. Virat wandered off with an empty stomach but a smile on his face.

His next stop was the stables. His horse had been his only companion on his trip to England but he hadn’t had the chance to visit him since his arrival. The door to the stables was thankfully unlocked now and Virat slipped in. He breathed in the familiar smell of hay and horse feed as he neared his mount, placed in the largest, most well-equipped section, as was expected. Just as he began to stroke his mane and saddle him up he heard the door latch shift and he turned. The man, the same as before, entered and Virat’s eyes grew wide.

The man gave him a quiet hello in his strange accent as he spotted Virat but said nothing further as he starting saddling his own horse.

“You disappeared earlier,” Virat said, rather than replying to his greeting.

“Did I?” the man said, inquisitively. “I was under the impression that I merely walked off.” He shrugged but Virat saw a hint of laughter in his eyes.

Virat was taken aback, although he realized that the man wasn’t being serious. He became quiet then, adjusting the buckle on his horses saddle instead.

“How well do you ride?” the man asked, now atop his horse, a small smile on his face.

Virat didn’t smile back but said in a dry voice, “Better than I shoot an arrow.” He climbed onto his horse as well and followed the man out of the stable.

“Let’s see about that then, shall we?” the man called out over his shoulder, his horse slightly picking up the pace.

Surprised, Virat reacted a few seconds late but he quickly nudged his own horse and sped forward, galloping far ahead of the man. Within a few seconds the sound of neighing and the clip-clop of a horse’s heels told Virat that the man wasn’t far behind him. Virat sped up but the man caught up to him eventually and they were soon neck in neck as they neared the end of the field. The man pulled at the reins to stop his horse first and Virat followed suit at the last second, nearly colliding with the boundary wall. His horse neighed loudly in protest but Virat calmed him down, stroking his neck gently. He looked up to see the man’s eyes on him but he looked away immediately.

“You do ride better than you shoot,” he said staring into the distance, not meeting Virat’s eyes.

“Told you,” Virat said smugly.

The man laughed, his whole face lighting up.

He was still smiling when he said, “I’ll see you around, then,” and Virat was left staring bewilderedly after him as he galloped away on his horse, far quicker than he had been cantering before.

 

-


	3. Chapter 3

Virat was oddly nervous before the start of the ceremony. As he dressed, he struggled to focus on the task at hand: putting on a good show for tonight, keeping his smile equal amounts of charming and polite and making a good impression on the Nawabs, royalty and anyone of any importance in attendance. It wasn’t a difficult task; he’d been doing it all his life after all; but it was one that required focus and attention which Virat seemed to lack right now. Who could blame him? His encounters with the foreigner were growing stranger and the man’s odd habit of disappearing midway made him curiouser and curiouser about him each time.

He spent most of his walk towards the hall trying to rid himself of thoughts about the man, fiddling with his cuffs and picking at the elaborate gold stitching on his sherwani as he tried to focus on names and designations of the guests and their spouses and children rather than the kind, blue eyes of the man or the origin of the man’s thick accent.

Virat entered the extravagantly decorated room flanked by guards and had to squint against the bright gold tapestries and decorations hung all around as the sparkled and reflected the sunlight straight into his eyes. A few steps in and the room and it’s guests came into clearer view and he strode in amid applause and whispers from all the nobility in attendance. His father greeted him on stage along with his mother and he hugged them both, touching their feet as well out of respect.

The King and Queen led him to the balcony overlooking the thousands of Hindustanis gathered below to catch a glimpse of their prince for the first time in five years. Virat waved and smiled, inciting cheers from the crowd as the celebrated the return of their prince. After a while, when his arms grew numb from waving and his cheeks started to hurt from the static expression on his face and he was able to return to the packed hall. But Virat’s job wasn’t over yet as the extensive, and rather dull, introductions followed.

Virat droned his father’s voice out, mostly because he actually remembered most of these people from before, and he just smiled and nodded and added a polite greeting each time.

Nearly an hour later, the introductions were still going on and Virat’s cheeks were beginning to go numb from all the smiling.

“-And this is the Nawab and Nawabsahiba of Kashmir. Of course they sent us the lovely package of peaches and apricots just last month; you missed out on that Virat,” the king said and Virat nodded politely, already moving on.

He stopped suddenly, however, as the next person came into view; the man from earlier, dressed in the same uniform as both of the times that Virat had met him before, except for far more medals, was smiling at Virat and the king as if nothing was amiss. His eyes, Virat noticed, looked bluer than ever; the blue and black medals that adorned his chest complimented them well.

Virat stared at the man with wide eyes while the man smiled back, seemingly unaffected and smiling, as polite as ever.

“And this is General Abraham Benjamin de Villiers,” the King told Virat, oblivious to the shock on Virat’s face. “He’s a general sent over from Southern Africa to help train our troops. ” The King smiled warmly at AB while Virat's expression twisted with disbelief.

“It’s an honour to serve you and to be of any assistance to you, Your Majesty,” AB said in his thick-accented voice and Virat found it even more difficult to get rid of the shocked expression on his face.

The King smiled warmly at AB and moved on to the next person waiting to greet them but Virat strained his neck, still staring at AB while AB stared back, a small smile on his face.

 

-

 

As soon as they were done meeting everyone and gorging on food right after, Virat cornered MS as the latter stood in the corner of the room, his sharp eyes observing everyone and seeing everything in order to keep the feast running smoothly.

“Guess who the soldier I met the other day was?”

MS didn’t look at Virat as he replied, his eyes still trained on the room. “Who?”

“General Abraham Benjamin De Villiers,” Virat replied in an exaggeratedly lofty tone and MS raised his eyebrows.

“The mysterious soldier you were obsessing over is the foreign general?” he asked. 

“I wasn’t obsessing over him,” Virat said defensively and MS snorted, eyes focused on the room again.

“I wasn’t!” Virat said again but MS didn’t reply and just smirked to himself.

“Why’s he training our troops?” Virat asked, changing the subject but he did want to know anyway. “What’s wrong with our military training?”

MS gave a small shrug. “Your father felt that our soldiers weren’t being pushed hard enough by our generals and AB is a good leader and teacher back in his home. He’s won Southern Africa many victories and made their army one of the strongest in the world. His Majesty felt that he could help us.”

Virat raised his eyebrows, unconvinced.

“I can’t imagine General Sehwag appreciating this step at all.”

MS laughed. “Oh, he didn’t like it one bit.”

“Then why would Father do this? Isn’t it unsafe allowing foreign general free reign over our young soldiers? And isn’t it even worse to offend our own army’s general?” Virat questioned, disbelief written all over his face.

MS just shrugged again. “His Majesty felt it was the right thing to do. The threat from our enemies in the North grows day by day. Our soldiers needed a better teacher and if it had to be a foreigner, so be it.”

Virat looked skeptical but dropped it, knowing that getting MS to disagree with his father would be impossible.

 

-

 

Hours later, as the party began to die down, Virat was able to sneak away, getting a bit too tired of the small talk and the polite smiling and the forced laughter and even the Nawabsahab and sahibas pushing their daughters forward towards him almost forcefully, demanding Virat speak to them just once or take a walk with them because _“jodhi pakki hai, qasam se.”_ (“You both are a match for sure, I swear.”) Virat had to move back each time in alarm and find the nearest escape route, almost stumbling over his feet and his sherwani but he managed to get out of there unscathed each time.

The crisp, night air beckoned him outside towards the courtyard and Virat followed it, desperate to be free of the stuffy, warm interior of the castle. He discarded his sherwani somewhere along the way, down to only a black shalwar kameez as he ventured out into the courtyard. The night eerily quiet, with the occupants of the castle either indoors at the party or asleep due to the late hour. In the distance, Virat could hear the sound of a constant light thud and thud, as if of a battle arrows being fired at a target. He followed the sound, a part of him knowing exactly who and what he would find there.

“Why didn’t you tell me who you were?” Virat asked as he entered the clearing.

AB lowered his bow and turned towards him and said, “I didn’t think it was important. Was it?” He didn’t wait for an answer as he raised his bow again and released an arrow, hitting the center of the target almost perfectly.

Virat was quiet at first as he stared at the man, a flurry of emotions going through him. “No, it wasn’t,” he said in carefully measured voice.

AB paid no more attention to Virat as he fired one arrow after the next at the target. Virat left soon after, tiredness beginning to seep into his eyes and a sense of confusion about the whole situation.

 

-

 

Virat slept restlessly again that night but instead of Amir’s glare he saw mysterious blue eyes and an armoured soldier beckoning him towards him. As he moved closer to him, he was able to see the man underneath the armour more clearly. Pale skin and a light dusting of hair came into view and he looked up to see AB staring at him through his helmet. His eyes had the same kindness and softness in them as they had every time Virat had met him but suddenly he began to change. His skin tanned and his eyes grew darker, more brown than blue. He grew shorter and broader, filling out his armour better. The kind look in his eyes was replaced with hard, menacing one, startlingly familiar to him but before Virat could identify where he’d seen them before, the soldier swung his arm out towards him threateningly, sword in hand.

Virat jolted awake before he was hit; shaken and confused by the dream. His eyes stayed wide open, irritating slightly against the chilly sea breeze coming in from the open window. His breathing slowed down as he finally managed to calm his racing heart down. He closed his eyes once more and allowed a dreamless sleep to overcome him. In the morning, he remembered nothing of his nightmare.

 

-

 

Virat’s breakfast was going perfectly smoothly with his paratha buttered perfectly and his egg cooked just right when his father, seating on his right at the head of the table, decided to put a damper on his morning, and possibly on the rest of his days as well.

“Did Ishant inform you about your training today?” the king asked, taking a bite out of his own buttered paratha.

“What training?” Virat asked.

“Military training, Virat,” the king said impatiently.

Virat raised an eyebrow. “Why do I need military training?” he asked. “I already did my years before going to England.”

His father sighed, exasperated. “When was the last time you swung a sword?”

Virat hesitated. “Six or seven years ago?” he said, unsure.

“Exactly. Now if a war breaks out tomorrow, how are you going to lead an army if you haven’t held a sword in six or seven years?” The king looked at him expectantly but Virat stayed silent, his father’s point of view making sense to him now, though he hated to admit it.

“Don’t you think I’m a little old for military school?” Virat asked after a few minutes of silence. “What will the people think if they see their prince, a grown man, training with children?”

His father gave him a hard look. “They’ll think their prince cares about defending their kingdom. And besides, you won’t be training at the school.”

“No?” Virat asked.

“You will be trained privately by General De Villiers.”

Virat opened his mouth to protest, ready to unleash the same argument he’d used with MS the night before, to reason with his father but his father raised a hand to stop him in his tracks.

“MS told me about your objection to AB’s appointment and all I have to say about that is that I have my reasons, Virat,” the king said in a kinder tone. “You won’t understand them now but you will someday.”

Virat looked skeptical but didn’t push him further. Instead, he nodded stiffly and bowed his head before exiting the room.

The king’s voice called out to him as he left, “Training is at 10!” Virat ignored him.

 

-

 

Virat spent the rest of his morning in his room, determined to not show up for his lessons with AB. However, his father knew him too well and soon he had Hardik banging on his door incessantly until he used the key to enter.

“Your Highn- Oh fuck it. Virat,” Hardik said, standing over his head where Virat lay on his bed, throwing a polo ball up and catching it as it fell.

“Pandya,” Virat replied flatly, still watching the polo ball.

“You’re expected at training,” Hardik said, wrapping his hands around Virat’s arm and yanking him up as the polo ball fell onto the ground. Virat stood up surprisingly easily and Hardik snorted.  
  
“How weak have you gotten Virat?” he asked as Virat pulled his arm out of Hardik’s grip. He glared at him and rubbed his arm.

“Maybe you do need training,” Hardik said grinning widely at him and Virat ignored him, picking up the polo ball back of the ground. It was promptly knocked out of his hand once more and he shoved Hardik away but Hardik barely moved an inch.

“Fine,” Virat said, scowling. “I’ll go for training.”

“That was easy,” he said, stepping to the side as Virat stormed past.

 

-

 

Aw he approached the training ground, Virat saw AB in deep conversation with one of the bladesmiths and bent over a furnace before AB heard him approaching.

“Your Highness,” AB said, his tone pleasantly surprised and Virat frowned as he realized that AB probably didn’t expect him to show up either.

“General,” he said formally. The bladesmith looked up at him shyly and Virat raised his eyebrows until the boy bowed his head and greeted him as well in a quiet, apologetic voice.

“This is Shadab,” AB said with a kind smile at the boy. “He’s a very talented bladesmith I discovered. He’s in-charge of making all the weapons.”

“This is a child,” Virat said, his voice wrought with disbelief. “You’re trusting a child to make our weapons? Who even gave you the authority to do that? And what happened to Ashwin?”

“Shadab is only nineteen, Your Highness, but he’s been making weapons with his father since he could talk and his weapons are sharper, sleeker and stronger than anything Ashwin ever produced for us.” AB said all of this matter-of-factly, his tone neutral but his eyes were carefully observing Virat.

Virat decided against protesting and instead picked up a freshly made sword lying there. It was lighter than any sword he’d ever used and the grip firm and well-made but Virat hid his appreciation for it carefully. He touched the blade to test it and immediately retracted his hand as the blade cut him immediately.

He stared at the cut on his finger in surprise and AB smiled.

“Told you,” he said with a small shrug and Virat nodded, his expression carefully controlled now.

“Shall we begin then?” AB asked, leading him to a clearing not far from the bladesmith’s shed.

“Don’t we need swords?” Virat asked as he followed him and AB bent down as if on cue, picking up two wooden sticks and throwing one to Virat. Virat stared at the stick and looked at AB with surprise.

“Wood first, then metal, Your Highness,” AB said, swinging the stick expertly in circles with just a twitch of his wrist. “You saw how sharp that was.”

Virat looked offended. “I’m not a child, General,” he said harshly. “I can handle a sword. Don’t forget that I still am a deputy general of my own army. I’m only here to humour father and appease him. You don’t need to treat me like a little boy learning to hold a sword for the first time.”

AB paused and let the stick fall to his side.

“Very well then,” he said, a hint of a smile on his face. “Metal it is.”

Virat was taken aback by how quickly the general yielded but he brushed the though aside as AB threw him a sword from Shadab’s shed.

He faced him, sword drawn, a hint of challenge in his eyes and his face serious now. Virat mirrored his stance and they circled each other before Virat launched suddenly, swiping at AB but AB was quick, meeting his sword with a loud clanging noise before Virat was even close to hitting him. He withdrew swiftly and swung at Virat this time and Virat dodged it narrowly, throwing himself out of the way and just barely stopping himself from falling over. He steadied himself immediately and swung hard at his opponent but AB stopped him in his tracks.

“Wait,” he said, holding up a hand in front of him and Virat’s sword just barely stopped in front of it.

“What?” Virat asked, already breathing heavily and annoyed that he’d been interrupted mid-swing.

AB threw him a shield and picked one up for himself as well.

“I don’t need this,” Virat said, staring at the shield in disdain.

“Yes, you do,” AB disagreed as he fell back into position.

“Why?” Virat demanded.

“You didn’t use your sword to defend my attack; you dodged instead,” AB said simply.

Virat still looked confused so AB elaborated.

“You wasted valuable time and energy ducking my attack. Instead of that, you could’ve just used your shield to block it and swung at me with your sword at the same time, catching me off guard.”

“Shields are only for men who are weak,” Virat proclaimed insolently.

“Shields are for men who want to survive, Your Highness.” AB’s face was expressionless but his tone rang with finality. “Arrogance won’t win you wars but protecting yourself just might.”

Virat glared at AB with narrowed eyes. As much as he hated to admit it, there was some sense in his logic, though he detested being called arrogant.

“Fine.”

They resumed their duel once more as Virat raised his sword again. He tried to follow AB’s instructions this time and ignored his instincts telling him to duck every blow and instead, raised his shield to meet every attack and attempted to strike AB with his sword each time. He found that this tactic made him less exhausted though his arms ached with the constant swinging.

By the end of practice three hours later, he was a sweaty, sandy mess having fallen down onto the ground too many times while trying to resist AB’s forceful cuts towards him. AB offered him  a hand to help him up from where he was sprawled on the ground and Virat almost raised his hand to accept it but realized what he was doing before pushing himself up with his own, aching arms and stomping past him.

“That’s enough for today then, Your Highness,” AB said, an unreadable expression on his face.

Virat nodded, his mouth in a firm line as he tried to dust of the dirt on his arms with a cloth.

“Go shower and eat,” AB said. “I’ll meet you at the archery range at seven in the evening.”

“It’ll be dark then,” Virat pointed out before he could help himself.

“Tell me, Your Highness: when you’re at war, do you only fight during the day?” AB asked with raised eyebrows and Virat scowled.

“Why not now?” he demanded.

“Right now, I have children to teach,” AB said patiently.

Virat failed to come up with a response to that and instead stormed off, a strange feeling in his chest. There was something odd about this man, something that annoyed Virat as much as it made him almost admire him. A few acts of kindness and some clever dueling tactics weren’t going to change his opinion of him just yet though.

-

Weeks passed in the same way; Virat trained with AB for five hours a day: three in the morning and two in the night. Despite the short duration, he realized just how much he’d learnt from him. AB was oddly patient and kind to Virat even when Virat pushed his limits, questioning his every piece of advice and tactic relentlessly. He answered all of his queries leaving no room for dispute or counter-argument, no matter how hard Virat tried.

In his free time, Virat took his horse out for a ride or, upon AB’s suggestion although he would never admit it, he began to lift weights that Shadab fashioned for him from cast iron to increase his body strength. AB believed that Virat needed to be stronger rather than just quick on his feet if he wanted to overpower his opponent and although Virat resisted, remembering his time at military academy and how General Sehwag himself had told him to focus on his agility rather than his strength, he gave in eventually. A few weeks later, the changes were apparent when, he was able to push AB off of him as he was sprawled on the ground, AB’s sword pushing down against his, dangerously close to his neck. AB was jolted back and he looked surprised as Virat jumped to his feet once more, sword drawn.

“The weights are working then?” AB asked, blocking Virat’s attacks easily as he slashed at him.

Virat struggled to catch his breath enough to respond as he swiped at him over and over again to no avail.

“Guess..so..” he panted out as he swung at AB’s legs instead of his neck this time but AB met his sword halfway once more and pushed him back forcefully with his own cut.  
  
“You should start running as well,” AB said conversationally and Virat grunted as he lunged at him again and heard only the clanging of metal as his sword failed to make contact with AB.

“It’ll help increase your stamina,” AB continued, swinging away but Virat was quicker this time; he ducked AB’s attack and remained crouched on the ground as he struck him forcefully on his calves, causing AB to fall over. Virat stood over him as AB stared at him in surprise. He remained still, unmoving until he finally reached a hand out to AB unwillingly and pulled him back up.

“That was a good strike, Your Highness,” AB said, smiling at him.

Virat nodded his thanks and fell back into position but AB wasn’t finished.

“I liked how you took both your old training and what I taught you and integrated them to make one maneuver,” he went on. “That was very clever.” AB was looking straight at him with his honest, earnest eyes and Virat felt his cheeks burn.

“Thank you General,” he said stiffly, raising his sword again, ready to strike.

-

 

Virat began to face AB as an almost equal match after a while and, with AB’s advice, he began to see marked improvement in his dueling and strength and speed. He was careful not to admit this thought but AB didn’t seem to require any thanks or appreciation from him. Despite Virat hostility during the first week, AB had been nothing but kind to him. Looking back now, Virat’s archery skills were especially laughable but AB never mocked him and instead, took Virat’s frustration at himself in stride and helped Virat channel that anger into his training.

Virat had just grimaced the first few times that AB tried to tell him to focus on the next shot rather than his previous miss but eventually he reluctantly followed his advice and realized there was some sense to AB’s advice.

“Stop being so hard on yourself, Your Highness,” AB would tell him practically every day and Virat would try; he’d complain and resist at first, but he’d try nevertheless.

One practice ended with Virat landing more blows and firing more arrows that hit the target dead center than AB and the grin on his face was contagious and unwavering.

“You did well today, Your Highness,” AB said as they collected the fallen arrows.

“Virat,” he replied. “Call me Virat.”

AB looked surprised but he nodded.

“And thank you,” Virat said hesitantly, “for all your help and the training – I know I’m not the easiest person to teach.”

AB smiled and didn’t disagree.

“You’re very welcome, Virat.”

Virat smiled back; his name sounded odd in AB’s thick accent but he found that he didn’t mind the way it sounded at all.

-

Virat didn’t know when he began to look forward to training with AB. He hadn’t even really dreaded it, unless you count the first day but he didn’t understand when he’d gone from indifference to anticipation. Practice became less of a duty or a chore and more of a morning and afternoon well spent. AB was a skilled fighter and a good teacher but Virat wasn’t sure when he’d started to view the man as a friend. He found himself lingering back after practices, talking to AB about nonsensical things: his time in England and his adventures around Karachi and the rest of Hindustan or even AB’s own experiences and memories from back home.

One evening, they’d finished clearing the arrows and the bows and put the targets away while in deep conversation about the recent peace treaty between the Persians and the Northern Africans. Engrossed in the conversation Virat didn’t realize when they’d started to walk and their surroundings changed from thick trees and greenery to cold stone walls of the castle. He paused as he realized that they weren’t standing under the moonlight anymore and were instead under a lit candle next to a tapestry.

He paused and stared at AB who looked at him curiously but he continued walking instead of questioning it. AB dropped him off to his quarters that night and he continued to do so, every other night after that.

-


	4. Chapter 4

“Virat!” came a deep voice from behind him and Virat stopped in his tracks turned towards the source, some few feet behind him in the corridor. Sweaty and exhausted from his training, he had to squint against the harsh sunlight coming through the open end of the corridor to make out the dark figure walking towards him.

“General Sehwag!” Virat said with a wide smile, recognizing the Hindustani army’s lead general and his military school teacher immediately. “How’ve you been General _sahib_?”

“Oh, I’m grand, just grand. And you?” the General asked, falling into step with him.

“I’m alright.”

“It’s good to see you again after all these years,” he said warmly.

“And you, General,” Virat replied with a smile.

“But where are you returning from all dirty and disheveled?” Sehwag asked disapprovingly, looking him up and down. “You know that’s no state in which a prince should be walking around.”

“Oh, uh,” Virat stared down at his dusty shalwar kameez, ripped in a few places from the duel today. “I had training.”

The General frowned.

“With that foreigner De Villers, no doubt,” he said coolly.

“Yes, sir,” Virat said carefully, eyeing him.

“I had hoped to talk to you about him actually,” the General said, his mouth set in a tight line.

“You did?”

Sehwag hesitated before speaking.

“Now, you have to understand, Virat, that I have always had utmost respect for your father and the way he rules our kingdom but this decision of his- to invite a stranger into our kingdom and have him train our young, impressionable troops with his own teaching style- it’s unwise.”

The General observed Virat carefully after he finished, as if to gauge his reaction.

“What do you mean ‘unwise’, General?” Virat asked, half curious about his choice of words. “I doubted General De Villiers’ abilities myself at first. For one, I thought him too young and, like you said, an untrustworthy foreigner, but he’s managed to prove himself, don’t you think?”

 “Look, between us friends, Virat,” the General said, as he stepped closer to him and lowered his voice, “De Villiers may have all the new techniques and tactics but our techniques were working just fine and your father didn’t have to call in some random foreigner to train our soldiers-”

“My father did what he thought best General,” Virat interrupted him and the General looked taken aback.

“And you didn’t answer my question – what did you mean by calling my father’s decision ‘unwise’?” Virat couldn’t help the hard look he wore on his face and the General stared back, surprised but not backing down.

“I merely meant that there may be some people who aren’t exactly pleased with this change your father’s brought,” the General said and Virat sensed a veiled threat in his masked voice and expression.

“Some people?” Virat asked, raising his eyebrows. “Do you mean yourself, General?”

His hand inched towards the sword swung on his belt but he resisted, gripping the knife strapped to his thigh instead.

The General’s eyes were cold now, all previous warmth and comradeship gone from them. Virat glared back but couldn’t help but feel like he’d seen those eyes somewhere before.

“Heed my words carefully, Prince Virat. That’s all I meant.”

-

 

Virat spent the next few days in indecision – he was torn between telling his father about General Sehwag’s veiled threat and not telling him. Whatever he meant, his father deserved to know that people around him weren’t happy about a decision he’s made but at the same time Sehwag was an old friend of his father’s and it was entirely possible that he’d misinterpreted the General’s words. This debate raged on back and forth internally, plaguing his thoughts every minute of the day so much so that even three days after his conversation with the General, he was struggling to focus at his training at all and was consistently getting disarmed and receiving severe blows from AB’s swords. AB brought their practice to a halt after Virat’s sword clattered the ground for the fifth time that evening.

“You’re not focusing,” AB said, his tone neither disapproving nor annoyed but curious or even concerned. “Are you alright?”

Virat’s head snapped back up to look at AB and he seemed to break out of his reverie.

“Yeah, sorry,” Virat said quickly.  He picked up his sword again and swung his arms to regain feeling as he fell back into position.

“You just apologized to me,” AB said with surprise. “Are you sure you’re alright?”

“I’m fine,” Virat insisted and he swung at AB in an effort to bring this conversation to an end before he let something slip. AB blocked his attack successively and jabbed at him instead and Virat dodged it, feinting to the left before his sword met AB’s shoulder plate with a successful clang.

AB fell back, a small smile on his face and Virat grinned back.

“Told you I’m fine,” he gloated and AB laughed.

“So you did,” he said.

-

“Some people don’t like you here,” Virat blurted out as he walked back to the castle with AB. He immediately wished he hadn’t and prayed for the nonsensical conversation about whether African elephants look more majestic that Indian elephants to return.

AB turned to stare at him in surprise.

“Don’t you mean yourself?” he asked but there was no bitterness in his voice, just good-natured humour.

Virat frowned however, slightly stung by his words.

“I had my reservations about you but that was until I met you and started training with you,” he said.

AB laughed. “I was just joking, Virat,” he said. “I know people don’t like me; I didn’t expect otherwise considering the fact that I’m a foreign soldier.”

Virat was quiet then, thinking through his next words carefully.

“These people- the ones who don’t like you- I think they blame my father for appointing you.”

Virat paused.

“I don’t know whether I should tell him about my suspicions or if I’m over thinking this or if there’s no threat at all-”

“Tell him,” AB said swiftly. “Whatever suspicions you may have, you have them for a good reason.”

Virat nodded, still reluctant but AB’s advice made sense.

“I’ll speak to him tomorrow,” Virat said as the approached the door to his quarters.

AB smiled and bade him goodnight and walked away but Virat stood there, his hand on the door knob and worry in his mind.

-

Virat hadn’t had a restless sleep in many weeks now but that night he slept fitfully. A soldier with an obscured face but hard, menacing eyes swept in and out of his dreams, haunting him. Each time he appeared, the soldier raised his sword and swung at him but before he could strike, another armoured soldier appeared in front of Virat, this one paler, with kinder eyes. He would turn away from Virat and face the other soldier and begin shielding Virat from his blows. He didn’t land any strikes on his own, merely defending Virat even though some jabs did hit him. Virat woke up just as the _fajr azaan_ sounded in the city, loud and clear through his window. His heart was racing in his chest but it was more adrenaline and, strangely enough, worry than fear, unlike how it had been during his nightmares before. Virat took a deep breath and rolled over, listening to the sounds of the Muslim occupants of the castle and the city wake up with the _azaan._ The Muslim call to prayer echoed in his head as he drifted off back to sleep. Virat remembered nothing of his dream the next morning.

-

 

Breakfast the next morning was the usual affair with his mother and father both present so Virat waited until after to carefully broach the subject with his father. His father was sat in one of the tea lounges neighbouring the dining hall drinking his tea, reading through a sheaf of letters. Virat came and sat down next to him and his father gave him a small smile before returning to the letters.

“Father,” Virat said and the king hummed in reply. “I was hoping I could talk to you about something.”

The king looked up inquisitively and Virat paused before speaking.

“I spoke to General Sehwag the other day and it could’ve been nothing but he was acting strange,” Virat said. His father looked deep in thought as he listened to him and he motioned him to go on.

“He said that your decision to hire AB was ‘unwise’ and when I defended you he said something like ‘heed my words’,” Virat said, his forehead creased with confusion. “It could’ve been nothing of course, but I thought you should know that there’s clearly some dissent in the army over your recent decisions.”

His father nodded as Virat finished and sat back in his chair. A few minutes passed and then he spoke.

“Sehwag did express his disapproval the day I told him about General De Villiers appintment,” the king said, “but honestly Viru, I don’t think this is too alarming from him. The generals, nawabs and all my subjects, really- they’re never all truly satisfied with the decisions I make; everyone always has some problem or the other.”

“But you and General Sehwag have always been close,” Virat said with a frown.

“Close, yes- but we haven’t always seen eye to eye,” his father said, picking up the letters and beginning to read them once again.

Virat continued to sit there however, not ready for this conversation to be over.

“Why did you bring De Villiers here anyway?” Virat finally asked, breaking the silence. “I understand that AB is teaching new methods of training and fighting but General Sehwag was always in-charge of training our troops; he even trained me. What changed?”

His father sighed but didn’t look up from the letters he was still going through.

“The army needed a change. As good as Sehwag has been, we needed better and AB is better,” his father said simply, flicking through the letters and underlining and crossing words out, only half-paying attention the conversation now.

“But you’ve irked them- Sehwag and maybe more of the army’s generals aren’t happy with this appointment,” Virat said, agitated by his father’s nonchalance.

“Good for them,” his father said, his voice almost bored now and Virat stared at him in shock.

“Why aren’t you taking this threat seriously?” he demanded finally.

The king put his letters and pen down at last and faced him.

“What threat Virat? What could they possibly do to hurt me?” he asked, exasperated.

“Don’t underestimate them, father,” Virat said, his forehead creased with worry but his father seemed unconvinced.

“You worry too much, my son,” he said, half-smiling. “They can’t hurt us.”

Virat just hummed in reply and sat back in the chair, deep in thought. His father turned back to the letters and they sat together in silence until Virat gestured to the letters his father was going through.

“What’s all this, anyway?” he asked, picking one of the pieces of parchment up. Stamped with the royal seal, the paper was heavy and clearly an official document.

“Drafts for a reply to the Nawab of Khyber Pakhtukhwa,” the King said with a wide smile. “His daughter, Sana, is getting married and we’ve been invited.”

Virat looked at him with surprise and smiled.

“That’s wonderful news,” he said. “When is it?”

“Next week, actually,” the king said. “Sana planned on running away and getting married in secret so the only way to convince her to have a proper wedding was to promise that it would be a small event, just one function and nothing more.” The king wore a fond smile as he finished describing his niece’s typical antics.

“That sounds just like Sana,” Virat said with a laugh and his father agreed.

“We’ll have to leave by tomorrow if we want to make in time, however,” the king said, gathering the letters and tying them back up. “So I’ve asked Bhuvaneshwar to start getting the outfits together.”

“Wait,” Virat said, realization dawning on him. “We’re all going?”

“Of course,” his father said. “Your Khala would never forgive us if we missed out on this.”

Virat was silent, staring at his father incredulously until the king asked exasperatedly, “What now, Virat?”

“Nothing,” Virat said, shaking his head. “It’s just- you don’t think there’s a risk if we all leave for Sana’s wedding?”

“What risk?” his father scoffed.

“The risk that I just pointed out Father,” Virat said, his voice rising.

“Keep your voice down Virat,” his father said, silencing him with a look.

“I’ve assessed the situation Virat and as king, I have deemed the empire and our throne safe. Do you understand boy?” His father’s voice was hard, commanding and Virat resisted the urge to flinch.

“If you’re so worried about the circumstances, stay back. I’m leaving MS here as well. You two can oversee the kingdom while I’m away,” he went on.

Virat nodded, knowing there was no use arguing when his father got like this.

“Yes Father.”

His father just shook his head at him but walked off without another word to him, probably muttering to himself about disobedient kids who over-analyze situations but Virat knew a threat when he saw one and he wasn’t ready to leave the throne unprotected in its presence.

-


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!!! this is the final chapter of wtds but there will be an epilogue that I will hopefully post with this only but uh let's see!! 
> 
> anyway: SOME VERY IMPORTANT STUFF PLEASE READ↓↓↓↓
> 
> if reading about violence/gore and/or death is a trigger for you or if youd just rather not read it, READ THIS BELOW VERY CAREFULLY
> 
> (if you aren't triggered by it and don't mind reading it, then go ahead and skip these warnings)
> 
> when you get to the part where virat is talking to AB about sehwag STOP READING UNTIL _“Father awarded Bhuvi with honorary discharge and gave Bhuvi and Pandya both work in the castle after that incident,” he said._
> 
> because there is a somewhat graphic description of something that happens to a very beloved cricket player in this fandom :( which I'm v sorry for BUT HE SURVIVES LADIES!!! and men!! don't hate me pls
> 
> the two minor deaths are very unimportant nameless characters but the second one of the deaths has a bit of a graphic description and it's at the hands of one of the main characters (but it's self defense) BUT if you don't want to read it please don't!!! 
> 
> For the first death you stop after they've been anbushed and forced into the woods and the paragraph _They'd only walked a few steps.._ begins. It's mentioned in this paragraph so go ahead and skip the whole thing.
> 
>  
> 
> for the second: and this is VERY important because this death is much more graphic. please stop reading when a second person shows up to attack them in the woods and don't start until this line: _Virat nodded again but this time he followed where AB led him; his legs still felt detached from his body but he took slow steps forward, growing more firm with each stride._  
>     
> again, so sorry about all of this and I hope you still enjoy the fic!!! thank you so much for sticking with it so far!!  
>    
>  A TERRIBLY WRITTEN RECAP FOR ANYONE WHO DOESNT REMEMBER WHAT HAPPENED LAST:   
>    
> virat is a prince and heir to Hindustani empire and AB is a foreign general from southern africa (EVEN THOUGH HE IS WHITE, YES I KNOW) and virat is training with AB because his dad forced him to but he actually started to like AB n enjoy his company (woohoo) and there's a bit of, er, sparks n chemistry (ooOOoo) n virat keeps having these shady dreams about a mysterious hindustani villain and this white dude saved him (yes I realize what that sounds like. heavy Rudyard Kipling inspo sorry ladies) n then he meets sehwag, the head of the army, and sehwag is being all shady as well and Virat's all suspicious so he talks to AB (his boo :*) and AB convinces him to talk to his father but the king is all UHHH no (which uh smh wyd king) n that's what you missed on Glee! (no u didn't miss it, u all read it but twas a long time ago so thot I should just recap sorry)  
>  
> 
> anyway long ass note bit enjoy the fic!!!  
>  
> 
> sidenote: the soldiers chant "god is great" at one point before rushing into battle and yes I know the Taliban say that shit but did y'all know that it is actually a tradition in the Pakistan army to say Allah Akbar before heading into war or into a war excercise? it's been like that since even before partition (I'm talking 1857 war of independence and even Mughal times) it's to give our soldiers strength and it's actually quite beautiful and u best believe im going to use this opportunity to educate whichever one of u who might not know this. Also that's a muslim thing so the Hindus are known to chant Jai Hind (long live Hindustan) or for the Motherland (idk what that translation is) but yes.  
> and, er, as is the trend with all my fics recently, this has not been beta'd so if u find a mistake pls tell me or if u want u can ignore it sorry :/

An eerie calm settled over the castle after his parents’ departure: the castle was quieter, emptier without its King and Queen around. Virat felt their absence as he walked through the cold, empty hallways or when he sat at the long dinner table alone for each meal. Despite the loneliness however, Virat didn’t let himself forget why he’d chosen to stay back: he informed MS of his fears as soon as he got the opportunity, hoping he’d take the threat more seriously than his father had at least and it went as well as he could’ve hoped.

MS had remained quiet at least, while Virat narrated the encounter with Sehwag and his deductions from it. He purposefully left out his father’s response to it, choosing to not taint MS’s reaction but MS saw through it.

“And what did His Majesty say about this?” he asked, his face expressionless.

Virat huffed. “Do you have to know my father’s opinion before giving your own?” he asked pointedly.

MS merely looked unimpressed until Virat caved.

“Fine,” he said, glaring at MS. “Father doesn’t think there’s a real threat,” he admitted reluctantly.

“And there’s your answer,” MS said simply.

Virat groaned in frustration but he knew a lost cause when he saw one. He stormed off, unable to understand why no one was taking this threat as seriously as him.

 

-

 

He had training with AB later that morning and he made his way to the ground slightly disgruntled from his conversation with MS but he tried not let it show. If AB did notice his change in mood he didn’t say anything, only shooting Virat a concerned look that Virat felt best to ignore.

They fell into their positions with their swords drawn just as they did every day now, circling each other till one of them landed the first blow and the other counter attacked. They sparred in silence today, unlike their past few sessions where Virat started to make sarcastic remarks, taunting AB with a wide grin to which AB had responded with only a small smile and harder, quicker swings of his sword. But this morning, the only sounds in the ground were Virat or AB’s occasional grunts or from Shadab’s furnace nearby.

AB broached the topic at the end of their session but he was careful and his statement was hesitant.

“You’ve been quiet this morning,” he said, his eyes trained on his sword that he was sharpening rigourously with a smaller blade.

Virat didn’t reply at first, placing his sword and shield down carefully.

“It’s been a long morning,” he said finally.

AB looked at him with an unreadable expression on his face. “The King and Queen left?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Virat said flatly, looking away.

He walked ahead of AB, in the other direction, headed towards the castle but, for some reason, AB followed.

“That threat that you told me about a few days ago- did you talk to the king about it?” AB asked, falling into step with him and Virat looked at him with surprise.

“Yeah I did- why are you coming to castle with me?” he asked, breaking off hallway. “Don’t you have an archery lesson to conduct right now?”

AB shook his head dismissively. “I can be a little late,” he said. He was quiet then, walking alongside Virat as he normally did every night after archery, but never after dueling before.

Although Virat wasn't entirely sure about what AB meant, he nodded. There was a minute of silence until he spoke finally, his voice heavy.

“I spoke to my father. He didn’t listen- not that I expected him to but still-”

He turned to look at AB and saw him looking at him, his eyebrows furrowed and concern in his eyes. Virat swallowed hard, choosing not to think too much about it.

“I spoke to MS as well,” Virat added after a moments pause. “He wasn’t much help either- should’ve expected that as well.” He smiled bitterly, shaking his head.

“I don’t- I don’t know what I’m supposed to do,” Virat went on, “My father and MS both refuse to even acknowledge the threat.”

AB was silent, eyes trained on something behind Virat while Virat waited for his response, as patiently as he could at this moment. When AB spoke at last, his words were slow, well thought-out.

“Have you considered that it may have been an empty threat? Or maybe he didn’t mean as menacingly as you think he did?”

Virat shook his head immediately.

“As much as I want to believe that, I saw his expression AB. My father’s actions have offended him and Sehwag isn’t one to let that go without any retaliation.”

Virat tugged a hand through his dusty, messy hair and looked up at AB. His sky-blue eyes were kind, as always, and the open-attentiveness on his face allowed Virat to take a deep breath before continuing.

“The day I returned,” he began hesitantly, “The first thing I saw was my father arguing with Sehwag and MS in the court. I didn’t think much of it then but I still remember the expression on Sehwag’s face- he looked so angry, like he could hit my father and not think twice about it.” He paused, his expression pained.

When he continued, his voice was hollow.

“Even when I was in military school Sehwag had this terrible temper. He used to teach us,” Virat clarified, “before he was promoted to head general. I think I was in one of his last graduating classes before he stopped teaching.”

Even now, after all these years, Virat felt a shudder go down his spine at the memory.

“I remember, even if we made even the smallest mistake he’d explode and start shouting and screaming at us or, if he was really furious, forcing us to do inhumane drills until we collapsed.” He swallowed hard. “I remember this one time I heard about- it was Bhuvi I think- he couldn’t finish his run through the jungle because some _Kakatundi_ root had wrapped itself around his foot and the poison from it had burned the skin and some of the flesh off of his ankle and Sehwag-” Virat broke off, his breath shaky, “He broke off a branch from the same poisonous plant and he started to beat Bhuvi up with it- calling him weak and a coward for letting a plant overpower him.”

Virat closed his eyes as the memory flashed before his eyes- he’d completed the jungle course early that day and he was in his room when he saw them bringing Bhuvi into the castle, towards the hospital on a stretcher; his back, his arms and his legs were covered in boils and the stench of burning flesh was strong in the air.

“I wasn’t there when it happened but Pandya- he heard Bhuvi’s screams while passing through the jungle to his master’s fields.” Virat’s voice thick as he reminisced the painful day Bhuvi and Hardik met for the first time. “Pandya saved his life and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”

He took a deep breath and when he spoke again, his voice trembled slightly less than before.

“Father awarded Bhuvi with honorary discharge and gave Bhuvi and Pandya both work in the castle after that incident,” he said.

“Sehwag was made to issue a formal apology and he did, publicly and in my father’s court,” Virat added, “so perhaps he did move on from the incident and change his ways.” Virat’s voice was hopeful, almost forcefully so, as if he didn’t even believe it himself.

AB was quiet, as if absorbing Virat’s words before speaking.

“Do you really believe that?” he asked. “Do you really believe he’s changed?”

Virat’s expression twisted. “No,” he said. “I wish he has but- No. How can I after he threatened my family’s throne?”

There was a beat of silence where Virat sat down on the stone ledge surrounding the training ground, separating the bladesmith’s shed from the ground.  He didn’t meet AB’s eyes on him but did ask a question he already knew the answer to,

“He’s looking for revenge on my father isn’t he? For that day and for appointing you?’

The question was rhetorical almost so AB didn’t answer at first, instead following Virat’s gaze to where Shadab was deep in work with the other bladesmiths. He joined Virat on the ledge after a moment’s silence.

“It seems like it,” he answered and Virat nodded.

They sat there in silence on the ledge as the sun dipped lower, both of them deep in thought.

“Thank you,” Virat said finally, his voice loud after the quiet. “For listening.”

AB just smiled as he removed the last piece of his armour off of his chest; he was down to just a beige tunic and loose-fitting trousers now and Virat had never seen him without armour before.

“Of course,” AB said easily and Virat grinned back instinctively. The three o’clock Karachi sun was bright, blinding almost, making it difficult for Virat to meet AB’s gaze but he did, albeit with a hand shielded over his eyes.

“Was it worth missing your class over?” Virat asked him, his tone light.

AB laughed, half surprised at the question. “Almost,” he said, his accent thicker and something about it tugged at Virat’s heart strings.

-

Virat was calmer, more cheery for the rest of the day and though his worries about Sehwag hadn’t disappeared, he felt lighter than he had in days.

That night, as Virat made his way to the archery range for his regular lesson with AB, the sky had already darkened, a sure sign of winter approaching. But unlike most nights, there was no sea breeze and the air was thick and humid with the promise of rain.

The night was still- eerily so and it made Virat’s footsteps through the forest more audible than usual as dead leaves crunched under his foot with every step. He was almost to the clearing when he heard a branch snap behind him and he turned instantly; the knife usually strapped to his calf was in his hand in a flash as he faced the bushes where the noise had originated from. The forest was silent however, and Virat saw no movement near the bushes. He stared at them for a minute or two before turning away again, dismissing the noise as a stray animal.

When he reached the clearing, he saw AB had beaten him to it, just as he often did. He greeted Virat with a smile that Virat returned. He picked up the bow AB had set out for him, the same one he’d been using since his first day back in Hindustan. AB threw him a quiver filled with an assortment of arrows and Virat plucked it out of the air neatly. He picked a heavy, aluminum battle arrow from the assortment; he’d only begun using them last week, a step up from the lighter, wooden arrows. He heard AB come up behind him as he raised his bow and aimed at the target, eyes focused on the bright red circle. He waited, holding his position until AB’s hand came up and adjusted his elbow, raising it slightly. He bit back a smile and released the arrow, watching it sail through the air and strike the board dead center. He grinned, satisfied and turned to AB who mirrored his smile.

Virat turned and picked another arrow and nocked it in before imitating his last stance. He watched the arrow fly through the air and hit the target perfectly again. He turned to AB, smile lighting up his face once more but as he did so he heard hurried footsteps coming from the woods surrounding them. He swiveled around to the trees behind him, his bow raised with a fresh arrow nocked in.  AB mirrored his stance with his own bow and Virat stared at the trees with bated breath.

A man appeared, stumbling out of the woods and panting heavily.

Virat recognized him immediately.

“Shadab!” he called out, lowering his bow as he approached the bladesmith who was almost unrecognizable without his signature tunic and iron apron.

“Your Highness,” Shadab panted out, “I came to warn you.” His forehead was creased with worry.

“Of what, Shadab?” Virat asked, halting in his tracks but he knew the answer before it even came.

“General Sehwag, sir,” Shadab said fearfully and Virat’s heart dropped.

He turned to AB who had a hard, determined look on his face.

“Where is he?” AB asked Shadab. He went to the targets and started to collect the arrows he’d assembled there, filling his quiver. Virat followed him and began to do the same when Shadab answered.

“He was heading out of the castle when Hassan and I heard him talking with his men. They mean to ambush you in the woods.”

AB swore and it was so unlike him that Virat couldn’t help but stare at him.

“I heard someone in the woods when I was walking here,” Virat realized. “I thought it might’ve been a stray animal.”

AB nodded only, deep in thought.

“They’ll surround us,” he said finally, his voice matter-of-fact. “And they’ll probably outnumber us.”

“How many men did he have?” AB asked Shadab who’d been watching them both with worry in his eyes.

“Seven- seven or eight,” he said.

AB’s mouth was set in a tight line and he nodded again. Virat watched him quietly; he’d never seen this side of AB before.

“Did they see you or Hassan?” AB asked Shadab.

“No, sir,” Shadab said. He coughed uncomfortably before continuing, “Hassan and I were in a closet when they were passing.”

Even under the night sky, Virat saw Shadab’s cheeks colour and he coughed to disguise the laugh that was threatening to escape him.

AB merely raised his eyebrows before examining their surroundings carefully.

“So they don’t know we’ve been warned,” AB said quietly, half to himself. “That gives us about ten minutes head-start.”

He turned to Shadab again. “How well do you know these woods?”

“Very well sir,” Shadab answered, confident for the first time that night.

“Alright,” AB said. “Take Virat out of here. Take him to Pandya and Bhuvi’s house. Do you know where that is?”

Shadab nodded. “Yes, sir.”

Virat stared at the two; he had a feeling he knew what their exchange was about but he asked anyway.

“Why is Shadab taking me to Pandya’s?”

AB sighed. “I know you told me last week that Pandya hates you Virat but in a situation like this him and Bhuvi are the only ones who will understand. You said it yourself-”

“I’m not talking about Pandya’s grudge against me and you know it,” Virat said in a hard voice. “Where are you going?” he asked, his tone softer.

“Nowhere,” AB said, fiddling with his bow and meeting Virat’s gaze determinedly. “Someone needs to stay here and take down Sehwag.”

Virat’s eyes widened and he inhaled sharply.

“That’s ridiculous,” he said immediately. “You can’t stay here alone.”

AB shook his head. “Virat-” he began but Virat cut him off.

“No, AB. You’ll be outnumbered eight to one.”

“I’ll be fine. Just go before they come,” AB said exasperatedly but Virat was stubborn.

“We can both leave,” Virat argued.

“Virat-”

“No,” Virat said firmly, staring down AB as he stared back.

A twig snapped behind them and three of them spun around.

A dark figure entered the clearing from the woods, his cloak obscuring his face and Virat heard a sharp intake of breath come from where Shadab was standing. The figure was followed by more men, all wearing identical, dark cloaks. They surrounded the first figure, forming a crescent behind him and it became clear who their leader was. Virat raised his bow determinedly, eyes narrowed and, from the corner of his eye he saw AB raise his too. He stepped forward instinctively, half covering Shadab and saw AB move in front as well, shielding both Shadab and Virat.

The cloaked figure leading the group stepped forward suddenly and lowered his hood revealing a sinister smile and narrowed eyes glaring at him from a familiar face.

“Sehwag,” Virat said quietly, recognizing the General immediately.

Sehwag smirked as he stepped forward but AB raised his bow menacingly, the string pulled back and the arrow ready to be fired.

Sehwag stopped in his tracks but his smirk only grew.

“Aww, Virat,” he said, his voice low and dangerous, “You’ve got yourself a bodyguard have you? Or is he your boyfriend?” He let out a short, humourless laugh. “At least he’s braver than your last one.”

Virat’s eyes grew wide and one of Sehwag’s men guffawed loudly at the General’s joke.

“You-” Virat started to say but Sehwag cut him off.

“Yes, I know about Amir,” he said in a bored voice.

“But we’re not going to get into that right now,” he added menacingly.

“Attack,” Sehwag commanded his men in a low voice and Virat barely heard him as AB grabbed him and Shadab and ran with them into the woods. Virat heard the sharp sound of swords being unsheathed behind him and hurried footsteps follow them into the darkness of the woods.

He could hardly make out AB and Shadab under the pitch black sky and the cover of the trees but he felt a warm, calloused hand take his and soft, muted footsteps both next to him and ahead of him, leading him into the woods quickly and quietly.

They’d only walked a few steps when he heard a shout behind them and he turned, hand out of AB’s grasp and his bow raised. He fired an arrow in the direction of the voice and he heard AB fire one too, both of them hitting the target successfully. The man let out a small shout confirming their hit. AB turned away from the man but Virat stayed stationary, his arms raised, ready to shoot. AB touched his arm, silently telling him they needed to move. Virat maintained his stance for a second longer before allowing AB to tug him deeper into the woods. They crept through the woods, their footsteps deadly silent as Shadab led them out, careful to not alert Sehwag or any of his men searching for them.

Minutes passed with Virat barely daring to breathe lest he reveal their position. His hand didn’t leave AB’s the entire time and the warm weight kept him centered and calm, almost. The trees above their head began to thin, revealing gaps of cloudy night sky after many minutes of creeping though the woods.

“After we get out of here,” Virat said softly, his voice barely a whisper, “we’ll have to find MS-”

“Good luck with that,” came a drawling voice from in front of them on the path and Virat froze.

“Get behind me,” he whispered to Shadab as a dark shape came into view. He felt AB drop his hand and the sleeve of his rough tunic brushed against Virat's bare arm as AB raised his bow.

The dark figure moved forward, the blade of his sword glinting under the small patch of moonlight peeking through the clouds. In the next second, chaos erupted.

The figure let out a thunderous roar and rushed forward, swinging wildly at them. Virat grabbed Shadab roughly, pulling the bladesmith down with him to protect him from the blows. Pressed down on the ground next to Shadab behind some scraggly bushes, he heard arrows flying through the air and the grunt of a man he hoped was the assailant and not AB.

He chanced a small peek upwards, while keeping his hand firm on Shadab’s back, ensuring that the young bladesmith wouldn't rise and risk getting hit by one the arrows. He only saw the figure darting around, swinging his sword blindly while searching for AB in the darkness. Virat couldn't see AB either but he did see arrows being fired at the attacker in quick succession; he’d taken at least three hits to his armour now, if his grunts were anything to go by.

Virat couldn't bear being a bystander any longer.

“Stay down, alright?” he whispered to Shadab and he saw fear in his youthful eyes as Shadab shook his head violently into the dirt.

“No, Your Highness, don't-” Shadab whispered loudly but Virat didn't wait for him to finish and he pushed himself to his feet.

Razor sharp needle leaves left deep scratches on his arms as he fought his way through the bushes and the trees towards the attacker. His hand reached for his dagger strapped securely to his thigh and he raced into the clearing, tackling the assailant from behind.

The attacker fell into the dirt as Virat pinned him down, gripping the man’s arms in a way that could only be painful as their struggle raised a large cloud of dust around them. He struggled to get free and let out a cry of frustration that Virat quickly silenced with a hand clamped firmly on his mouth. He released the man's arms from his grip, weighing down on them with his body and raised his head, exposing the man's neck and almost cut through the skin as he pressed his dagger down.

He heard footsteps and saw AB enter the small clearing from behind a thick tree; the moonlight peeking through the trees illuminated him as he approached them. Virat paused and his grip on the blade slackened as he met AB’s gaze. The man sensed his hesitation and began to struggle against Virat’s weight, desperately trying to free himself but Virat was swift: his moment of hesitation came to an end as he realized what had to be done. The dagger ran clean across the man’s neck and he saw the ground and his hands stain crimson as the man’s convulsions came to an end.

The dagger dropped to the ground as he stood, gaze fixed on the blood dripping from his hands. He looked up towards AB, eyes wary and he saw what he'd least expected in AB's eyes.

“Hey,” AB said, his voice soft. He took hold of Virat’s hands, his touch gentle. “It's okay. You did what you had to do.” AB’s eyes were kind, as Virat had always known them to be. “But we have to go now, Virat. We have to keep moving.”

Virat nodded but he was rooted to the spot.

“Shadab,” AB called out, his voice just above a whisper. The young bladesmith rose slowly from behind the bushes,rose up from behind the bushes his steps clumsy in his desperation to be quiet.

“Take this,” AB said to him, handing him his own dagger from his waist, “and run- run to Bhuvi and Hardik and tell them what's happened and have them find MS.”

Shadab accepted the dagger hesitantly, fear evident in his eyes but he nodded all the same.

“Make sure you run fast, Shadab,” AB cautioned him, a hint of worry in his eyes and Shadab nodded again, turning away and taking off into the woods.

Virat watched their exchange and Shadab’s departure silently, barely comprehending it and so he jumped slightly as AB began to wipe Virat's hands off with his sleeve, his beige tunic slowly turning red.

“Virat,” he said, not dropping his gaze from Virat’s blank expression; the red had almost disappeared from Virat's hands, “come with me.”

Virat nodded again but this time he followed where AB led him; his legs still felt detached from his body but he took slow steps forward, growing more firm with each stride.

When they reached the end of the woods Virat almost cried with relief: the open air smelled like freedom and with AB’s hand firm in his, he felt almost invincible. Almost.

“Well, isn't this just adorable?” came a low, jeering voice and Virat saw Sehwag step forward, obscured earlier in the dark of the night.

Virat's grip on AB’s hand tightened as more of his accomplices stepped forward, forming a circle around them, surrounding them this time and Virat knew they were trapped.

He dropped AB’s hand and he inched towards the quiver slung on his back but swords began to be unsheathed around him as he did so and Sehwag's taunt was loud and clear in the still night.

“Now, now, Virat,” he said. “Don't do something we'll both regret.”

Virat's hand fell back down; he knew he'd be put down by one of Sehwag's men before he'd even nocked an arrow in.

“Smart choice,” Sehwag commented and his tone, his voice, everything about him infuriated Virat.

“Now,” Sehwag said, “Put down your weapons by your feet.” Virat and AB complied- Virat somewhat reluctantly, the glare on his face fixed at Sehwag who just smirked back.

Virat stiffened as one of Sehwag's men approached and gathered their bows and arrows from in front of them.

“Good,” Sehwag said, his smirk growing as he examined AB’s bow from the small collection of weapons. He looked up at AB and Virat and Virat glared back stonily. Sehwag answered his glare with a twist of his fingers and a sharp snap echoed into the still night as AB’s bow broke in to two.

“Oops,” Sehwag said tauntingly, his expression faux apologetic and it took AB’s light touch on Virat's arm to stop him from lashing out.

“Anyway,” Sehwag said as he rolled his eyes and threw the pieces of the broken bow over his shoulder, “this is getting boring.”

He paused, staring at them scrutinizingly.

“You almost got away from me, you know,” he said conversationally.

“I didn't expect you to put up much of a fight when I first cornered you,” he said. “I mean- I expected the _gora_ here to try and protect you but I never expected you to be a threat.” He let out a low laugh, taunting Virat.

“I thought we'd take the _gora_ down easy enough, eight to one, but then you were there, bow ready and all and I guess I underestimated you didn't I?” His voice was amused and almost thoughtful.

“Ah, well,” he said, moving on. He clapped his hands together in what could only be anticipation. “You're here now, aren't you? Now the real fun can begin.” His smile grew more sinister as he stepped forward. His men mirrored his movement and the circle of cloaked men around them grew smaller. Virat's breath hitched in his throat but AB’s hand was firm and comforting on his arm.

“What do you want from us?” AB asked suddenly, his deep voice ringing with authority. Sehwag paused; his smirk disappeared and his expression became one of disgust.

“From you _gora,_ I want nothing,” he spat out. “But from Viru here,” he paused, sneering, “well I'd rather he be alive at the end of this. I need him as a bargaining chip and he's no use to me dead.”

AB ignored the jibe and instead asked inquisitively, as if he was actually interested, “Bargaining chip? For what?”

Sehwag paused again, a frown and a hint of annoyance on his face.

“Are you _goras_ as dumb as you look? We need him so we can force his father to abdicate the throne when he returns. If he sees his precious son is at risk, he'll give us anything, even the throne.”

AB pressed on. “But aren't you afraid that if you let him and his family live then they'll gather enough support from the people and revolt against your rule?" 

Virat’s eyes widened and he stared at AB in surprise but AB silenced him with a squeeze of his wrist. Sehwag too was flabbergasted, sputtering away as he tried to reply to AB.

“That's- that's ridiculous,” he stammered out. “We'll threaten them- exile them even. They won't be able to lead a revolt against my rule if they're rotting away on an island in Greece.” Sehwag seemed satisfied with his reply, grinning smugly at AB who merely raised his eyebrows.

“How do you rot away on an island in Greece?” he asked, genuinely curious. “I hear Greece is beautiful this time of the year.”

“Hey,” AB said, turning to Virat, who was growing more and more confused by the conversation by the second, “if you do end up exiled in Greece, take me with you? I've never been and I hear the beaches are excellent.”

He grinned at Virat, light and easy, as if everything was perfectly okay and although Virat's heart was racing wildly in his chest and he was completely bewildered by all that was going on around him right now, for a moment, he too felt like everything was okay.

“Yeah, of course, although the beaches here in Karachi aren't too bad either you know,” he said, smiling at AB, a feeling of warmth spreading through him.

However, Sehwag's loud, snapping voice brought him back to reality in the next second.

“That's enough,” he snapped. He shook his head in disgust as he eyed them, eyes fixed on their touching hands.

“See, this- this is exactly why you will never make a good king,” he said, his voice dripping with venom. “Your father- well he's too soft, too kind to our neighbours: always signing fucking peace treaties with our neighbours and sending his son as a goodwill gesture to England to study.” Sehwag was almost shaking with anger as he said this, his sword trembling at his side.

"And you, Virat, ” the enraged General spat out, “You’re weak just like your pathetic father- whoring around with men in every country your father sends you to. It's unnatural, it's _weak_. You aren't worthy of leading your people.”

AB stepped forward, fire in his eyes but Virat pulled him back as the Sehwag's men revealed their swords threateningly. Sehwag seemed unmoved, lost in his rant.

“I thought you were better than your father,” he said quietly, “but I was a fool because you turned out _worse_ . I trained you like I would a son and I had such high hopes for you but then you go to England and I hear about you sleeping with _men_?” Sehwag’s expression twisted.

Virat's expression was stoney but it wasn't the first time he'd heard Sehwag's homophobic rant. 

"Before you go on, there's something you should know. You see, Sehwag, it doesn't matter to me what you think about my partners in bed. In fact, if there truly was a time a traitor like you considered me a fit king, then I am relieved that you changed your opinion. I'd hate to be a king you deem worthy." Virat's lips tilted but his eyes were hard. "And I assure you, my sexuality doesn't determine how well I will rule my people."

"The people will never accept you," Sehwag spat out. "In fact, I thought I'd bring that boy of yours from England here and force him to testify about your affair; then you and your father would be truly ruined in the eyes of the people but that fool refused any sum of money I offered- he straight up denied your affair even- I had to pay the Sheriff to hear about it.” Sehwag rolled his eyes. “But it was no problem; I had a better plan in mind- and it's worked.”

Sehwag stepped closer, hand on the hilt of his sword and a malicious gleam in his eyes. Virat's hand found AB’s wrist and he grasped it like a lifeline as the men inched closer.

“Say good-bye to your lover, Virat,” Sehwag said softly. “Once he's dead, you'll come quietly, won't you?” He smirked, evidently enjoying the pain etched on Virat's face.

Virat never had a chance to answer as thunderous footsteps sounded from the woods behind them. He felt AB’s hand on his back, pulling him down to the ground roughly as chaos erupted around them. A whole platoon of men entered the clearing, roaring wildly and shouts of “God Is Great” and “For the Motherland” rang in the night's air as the cloaked men crumbled to the dusty ground.

AB led Virat through the chaos of the fighting as they ducked blows and swinging swords, towards the end of the clearing and the edge of the woods where a lone man was stood. Virat barely recognized MS in his full armour.

He coughed as he spoke, dust caught in his throat. “Took- took you long enough. Was the full armour really necessary?”

MS’s serious expression dropped and a familiar look of exasperation replaced it.

“I'm saving your life here, Virat,” he said waspishly and AB laughed.

Virat turned to look at him; he'd almost forgotten that he was here and that he'd been here this whole time.

He opened his mouth to say something- to thank him or to apologise or anything, really but before he could, a familiar voice came from behind him.

“Virat,” Pandya said, “it's over.”

Virat turned to see that Pandya was right; the chaos of the fight had come to an end and the ground was silent mostly; Sehwag and his men were tied up and their hoods pulled down to reveal their identities and the soldiers, a roughly put together group of loyal, skilled men it seemed, were all stood next to the conspirators, seemingly unharmed and unscathed.

“We'll take them to the dungeons for now; you can decide what to do with them in the morning,” Pandya went on. “But I have to ask Virat: let me take care of Sehwag; I won't break any laws,” he added hastily, spotting MS’s look of alarm, “I'll only do to him what he deserves.” Pandya’s tone was forcefully calm but Virat saw the manic look in his wide eyes.

Virat refused, shaking his head.

“No,” he said. “They will all stay in the dungeons until my father returns after which they will stand trial.”

Pandya began to protest but Virat silenced him.

“He'll be punished for his crimes, Pandya. You don't have to worry about it.”

Pandya looked ready to argue some more but a pat on his arm and Bhuvi behind him stopped him.

“Tamim is the only one of the soldiers with an injury,” Bhuvi said to Virat. “It’s not serious but his arm is bleeding heavily so Shakib is taking him to the hospital.”

Virat nodded. “I'll go check on him. Thank you Bhuvi.”

Bhuvi nodded in reply, swiftly leading Pandya away, who'd turned on Bhuvi now and was going off on him, to no substantial effect it seemed, about showing up to the fight when he'd promised he'd stay back home. 

Virat shook his head fondly at the two, unable to stop the smile from spreading across his face.

“I'd better go see how Tamim is doing,” Virat said to AB.

AB nodded, his expression unreadable and Virat chewed at his lip nervously before blurting out:

“Do you want to come with me?” he asked hurriedly and AB raised his eyebrows, a look of surprise on his face.

“To see Tamim I mean,” Virat clarified, his cheeks burning. “I want to make sure he's okay.”

He half closed his eyes out of embarrassment at the ridiculousness of the question and he almost missed AB’s smile lighting up his face and a heavily accented, “Yeah. I'd like that.”

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THANK U FOR STICKING WITH THE FIC I PROMISE AN EPILOGUE IS COMING N HOPEFULLY WHEN U READ THIS A BUTTON FOR NEXT CHAPTER WILL B THERE!!!
> 
> ps. yes I use _gora_ as a derogatory term here because I kinda blanked on what we call white people as an insult. I swear we have more than one but I can't for the life of me remember it. also I kinda don't wanna offend anyone by using anything seriously derogatory so I guess it for the best! also, for anyone who doesn't know gora literally means white n is used as a word to describe westerners or white people in general


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HELLO!! SHORT N SWEET EPILOGUE TIME

Virat's father hosted not a feast, but a festival, as is and always has been the Hindustani way, once the trials of all seven surviving conspirators was over. It was grand- too grand in Virat's opinion but he expected nothing less from his parents. With what seemed like the entire kingdom in attendance, the festivities took days and the whole of Hindustan took part and celebrated. Virat was skeptical of it all but seeing AB's eyes light up with excitement at the prospect of a whole week of competitive sports made it much more bearable. And on the last day, when he was stood with AB atop the castle balcony overlooking the city and the thousands of Hindustanis gathered below to greet their king and their hero, when trumpets sounded and drums beat loudly and their people chanted and shouted below, Virat found he didn't mind the festival all that much.

Weeks had passed since that fateful night when Virat had attacked in his own home by a man he'd known his whole life, when Virat had taken a life with his bare hands. The nightmares still haunted him every night and he saw crimson marks on his hands and blood on the forest floor every time he closed his eyes but it was different now because now, he didn't wake up from those nightmares to a cold, empty bed- now, he woke up to strong arms wrapped around him, lips pressed to his temple and a quiet, accented voice reminding him that it's over, that Sehwag and his men are gone and that he did the right thing. They'd stay like this, AB's arms around Virat, protecting him, reminding him that he wasn't alone, even when the fajr azaan had sounded, even when the sun had risen, peeking through the thick curtains, throwing sunlight right into Virat's eyes, even when Pandya would storm in, demanding the prince woke up already and even when Pandya would quietly leave upon seeing the two, shutting the door softly behind him and instructing everyone in the castle that no one was to disturb the prince until he walked out of his room.

(They didn't leave the room for hours, and no one asked, no one questioned it but if Virat walked into the kitchen at six in the evening with his shirt buttoned wrong and his hair a mess, desperate for some snacks he could take back to his room and Kamran saw him, well, no one could blame him for letting Afridi know who immediately told Shahzad who obviously told everyone, could they?) 

-

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this fic is over n I'm kinda teary about it because even though I haven't been writing it long it's been my baby tbh. I've never loved writing a fic more because uh cute ass couple, royals au, MEDIEVAL HINDUSTAN!!!! AND I set it in Karachi which is my hometown (and also let me say that you would think that setting the fic in my city would mean I'd be more accurate about the geographic features n what not but UHHH let me tell y'all we have 0 forests n jungles. Zero. everything else was fine I guess like we have a sea n port n all and there is seabreeze obviously. anyway I'm rambling sorry.)
> 
> thank u so much for sticking with this fic!!! I know it's not everyone's cup of tea but it's been the most incredible experience writing this. I adore aus because I can just throw in whichever character I like which I've basically done because look at the characters list?? I mean I've thrown in as many as I possibly can and it is A LOT! 
> 
> anywho I love love love all of u who have been so kind n read this shit show of a fic u're all gems and if u have any questions u all know my tumblr or hit me up with a comment below ↓ (yes I figured this arrow out n I can't stop using it)
> 
> an answer to a question that I think y'all might have:
> 
> q. why does virat have those weird ass dreams where he predicts the future
> 
> ans. ok so I always loved this element in bollywood movies where they'd throw in a little extra bit of fantasy or unrealistic element like fate n destiny and I really liked the idea that virat n ab were meant to find each other n they were meant to be and that ab would be the one to protect virat from the danger and alsooo having dreams predict ur future is kinda strongly believed in here especially with older people and I really loved that! I think it's beautiful actually and I liked that I was able to add that to the fic. I hope it didn't make it too ridiculous though
> 
> THANK U FOR READING HAVE A LOVELY DAY/NIGHT/EVENING/WHATEVER

**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading!
> 
> come say hi: [tumblr](http://storm-alert.tumblr.com)


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